


Contemplations

by Nifty



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 03:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nifty/pseuds/Nifty
Summary: Though the Warrior of Light is ever on the move, he meets many--and forgets few.





	Contemplations

Though the Warrior of Light, ever on the move, meets many, he forgets few.

It was as it always was.

With the path to Ala Migho newly paved and bringing with it fresh opportunities and potential both, it saw to it that many returned to their adventuring ways. Where they had taken a break before to rest, weary and spent from their previous trials, did they now spring forth to greet the coming storm.

Many a familiar face and name did he greet, and with each the fresh promise of a budding friendship.

One he took at but the face value.

For if it were anything more, then he wouldn't have wandered the vastness of Gyr Abania, Hingashi, and Othard all, on his own.

More over, there was something that lingered with him in those that he met.

A primitive fear and desperation, the despair that resounded so heavily.

There was no triumph, no glory, and certainly no honor in taking their lives.

Though the Alliance had lauded him a hero, he felt but a murderer.

He saw Drest in each and every one of the men he slew, their eyes regarding the warrior of light with despair, knowing they were but the foot soldiers and that they would never see their families again thanks to him.

No one wanted to be there. Everyone had a reason to be. To feed their families, to protect themselves and their family by bending a knee.

Not everyone was a warrior of light, nor could he expect them to be.

And it stung.

Bravery and honor were for the strong... And the dead.

Lyse had proclaimed that there was no Life in slavery. Yet she did not truly understand what her people felt. No uprising of their own strength could have toppled imperial rule.

He felt lost.

Agitated.

For the lives he took, and the blood that now stained his hands so deeply.

Though he had no qualms with getting his hands dirty, this wasn't the kind of dirt he would have tolerated given the choice.

But such was not a luxury afforded to the bringer of light. On his back would he carry their dreams and push forward, no matter the cost. Not even when it came in compromising and losing himself, as he was slowly chipped away.

After seizing the bridge he had seen the war captives, the imperial soldier, a Sea Wolf cried out for mercy at the end of an Adder's spear. Another, a Plainsfolk mumbled to himself, diminutive form quivering.

Even as he averted his gaze like the coward he was, and walked away, he could hear his whimpering cries.

"Not like this... Not like this!"

He never found out what happened to them.

But if he truly cared, wouldn't he have asked? Certainly no one of the Alliance would deny him.

And yet he never would, too afraid to look back and see the mountain of corpses and blood that followed in his wake.

Even as he walked away, however, he could feel their empty accusatory stares on his back.

The proclaimed hero trudged the lonesome path heading north from Camp Dragonhead.

His pilgrimage in the private hours when he could no longer outrun himself nor the thoughts that pervaded his mind, howling and shrieking at him in the absence of action.

Peace indeed.

Never would he know it.

At the peak he bent a knee, head low as he placed fresh flowers upon the memorial, and brushed away the frost that clung to the icy rock and obscuring the name of that whom it was dedicated to.

Satisfied with his work he sat on his rump, ignoring the biting cold that was already seeping in.

From his knapsack he pulled out the oriental treats he had brought back with him, and gingerly set a teacup before the silent sentinel of stone.

When all was ready he started the Nexus Kettle, and within mere moments, was mixing in the ingredients.

He poured them both a cup, the slight tremble in his wrist the only sign in his otherwise languid and methodical movements that belied none but the indifference on his visage.

There he contemplated much, shared the thoughts he couldn't speak.

Laughed together, though it would be but the wind that accompanied him in the high altitudes.

Yet by the end of the afternoon tea did it see both cups empty.

He gathered his belongings, promising to return just as he always had.

Though it would always be, but too late.

**Author's Note:**

> The warrior of light is always keeping himself busy even in the downtime between battles.


End file.
